


As You Wish

by Kamaro0917



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crush Revealed, Dancing, F/F, Farmhand!Hermione, Fleurmione Week 2021, Fluff, G!P Hermione, Girl Penis, Hitting most of the prompts, Intersex, Jealousy, Maybe others - Freeform, Princess Bride AU anyone?, Useless Lesbians, androgynous hermione, fleur is a disaster, haven’t decided yet, inconceivable!, out of order tho, smut later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:07:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29946309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamaro0917/pseuds/Kamaro0917
Summary: There was a time when she dreamed of finding true love, being swept off her feet, and riding off into the sunset toward her happily ever after. She grew out of that mindset long ago. The idea of marrying for love was just a dream for fools to cling to, and Fleur Delacour was no fool.Everything changed when the new farmhand showed up.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 52
Kudos: 150
Collections: Fleurmione Week 2021.1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok... so this piece was originally written for Fleurmione Week (starts March 15) but we don’t get to the prompts til later chapters, so no harm in setting the scene, right? I’m just being proactive!  
> Also, for anyone waiting on WotW and HA updates... I’m so sorry. I’ll get back to those but my brain hasn’t been in the right space.

“Fleur! Fleur wake up!”

Fleur groaned and curled up tighter into her warm bed, knowing full well that the thick wool blankets would do nothing to protect her against the incoming force that was her little sister. 

“Go away, little monster! Let me sleep!” She shouted back, her voice thick with sleep and muffled by the layers of fabric. 

It was Sunday, her one day for a good lie-in, and she had hoped to have a relaxing morning before starting her chores. Alas, it seemed that would not be the case today. 

She reluctantly cracked an eye when she heard the pattering of bare feet growing louder, bracing herself for the inevitable. 

Like clockwork, the door flung open seconds later, and the excited ten-year-old came bounding into their shared bedroom. In four large strides, Gabrielle crossed the small space and launched herself onto the lump of blankets on the bed - a routine perfected over the years for maximum impact.

“Oooft!” Fleur grunted as the tiny body collided with hers. How one so small could be so _heavy_ was a mystery; a mystery that she would likely never solve. 

“There are easier and less painful ways to get my attention, you know.” She grumbled moodily. 

“Well I wouldn’t have had to wake you up like this if you had just gotten up when I called earlier!” Gabrielle giggled. Unperturbed by her sister’s temper, she attempted to snuggle in against the bigger girl.

As annoyed as she was, Fleur couldn’t deny her little sister. She emerged from her fortress and wrapped her arms around the little girl, pulling her close. 

“Mm, this is much better without your bony knee in my stomach,” she grinned, nuzzling her chin against the top of the girl’s head. “So what has you all riled up today?”

“Papa sent a message! He finished at the market, and will be returning in two day’s time. And he found a new farmhand!” 

“Oh, what happy news,” Fleur feigned enthusiasm, glad that Gabrielle was facing away and couldn’t see her rolling her eyes. Her sister was innocent and naive, and she didn’t want to dash her excitement. Being six years older, she had a much different view on meeting new people, especially males. 

Ever since she had developed a woman’s body, boys and men started staring at her whenever she went into town for her weekly shopping trip; their lecherous eyes lingering in places they shouldn’t. She shuddered at the memories of hungry gazes roving over her body while they whispered lewd comments behind her back. 

Fortunately for Fleur, their small plot of land was secluded far away from others so she had a buffer during the week. 

A farmhand living with them meant that she would get no reprieve from the ogling. It wasn’t her vanity that had her jumping to this conclusion - although she knew she was exceptionally beautiful - it was just that experience had taught her that men were the same. They only had one thing on their mind when it came to women. 

Despite her age, she had already received a few offers of courtship. Thankfully, her father put a stop to the unwelcome advances, but she knew that it wouldn’t last forever.

She was dreading the day she came of age and all of the expectations that came with it. She had no interest in marriage and even if she did, no one in town had caught her eye. While there were attributes she found attractive in men, more often than not she found her thoughts drifting to ladies rather than gents. 

Sadly, she knew a woman’s role and that she would be expected to marry one day, regardless of her desires. That was just the society she lived in. She would just do her best to put on a brave face and be the best wife she could be to whomever her father married her off to. Since she would have no say in the matter of her future husband, she could only hope that they were kind and at least moderately handsome. 

She knew she shouldn’t have such a bleak outlook; anyone her age should be happy to have prospects so soon. Marriage meant protection and stability, both for herself and her family by extension. Especially Gabrielle, should any ill befall their father before she became eligible for marriage. Fleur would do anything to protect her sister, even if that meant entering into a loveless union. 

There was a time when she dreamed of finding true love, being swept off her feet, and riding off into the sunset toward her happily ever after. She grew out of that mindset long ago. She recognized that her parents were a rare exception to the norm, and the idea of marrying for love was just a dream for fools to cling to. 

Fleur Delacour was no fool. 

She sighed quietly. Fretting wouldn’t change the future or the fact that her haven was about to be invaded. It was bound to happen eventually. 

She knew her father needed help; running a farm and small vineyard required a lot of work and he wasn’t getting any younger. She used to help out in the fields, but when her mother died unexpectedly the year prior, she assumed responsibility for maintaining the house and raising Gabrielle. 

It was difficult at first, but she couldn’t complain. She had a good life, all things considered.

While they were poor - as was almost every other family in the area - her father always made sure that she and her sister were provided for. They had a solid roof over their heads, a couple of good quality dresses, and food in their bellies. It was enough, and they made the most of their situation. 

It hadn’t always been this way. The Delacours were once a well-off family of repute. When the LeStranges usurped the throne, they were forced to flee to England, seeking political asylum. A testament to their resilience, Raphaël and Apolline Delacour carved out a new life for the family, establishing a small homestead just outside the town limits of Ottery St. Catchpole in Devon. 

Fleur was only five at the time of their relocation, so she had only vague memories of her early years in France. As far as she was concerned, the farm was her life. 

While she sometimes dreamt of what her life may have been like, she liked the routine simplicity on the homestead; there was comfort and safety in the monotony. 

In the mornings she and Gabrielle would feed the chickens, geese, and pigs, then milk the cows. The midday meal was a small affair, usually wedge of bread, meat, and cheese. In the afternoon she cooked supper and cycled through various household chores while Gabrielle tended the garden or checked her snare line. In the evenings she would read by candlelight or teach Gabrielle her letters and numbers. Then it was time to sleep and prepare to repeat the cycle the next day.

Having a fourth person living with them would undoubtedly throw off her balance and carefully scheduled routine. Hopefully things would settle quickly and the new help stayed out of her way and kept his eyes to himself. 

Gabrielle’s wiggling pulled her out of her thoughts. Cuddle time was over. 

“Well, I guess we should get ready for their arrival, hmm? Would you like to help me make Papa's special dessert to celebrate his return? Strawberry-rhubarb cobbler?”

“Yes! I’ll go collect the berries! I know a secret patch by the river!” Gabrielle was out the door seconds later. 

Fleur smiled after her and got out of bed, taking a moment to stretch her body before getting ready for the day. There was so much to do and not a lot of time to do it.

The air hung thick with the sweet perfume of flowering fruit trees as dusk began its slow advance over the land. Cheerful birdsong gave way to the rhythmic chirping of crickets, while the dark clouds building in the distance promised spring rains.

A flickering candle sitting in the open window of the small three-room cottage nestled against the treeline shone like a beacon in the night. 

Fleur was setting the table when a loud cry pierced the silence, startling her from her task.

“PAPA!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of platinum streak by the main window before disappearing just as quickly. 

Fleur had to admit, the tiny blonde’s excitement was contagious and she found herself grinning broadly, despite her growing trepidation over meeting the stranger. 

She spared a glance out the window. It was too dark to see anything, but she could hear the steady clip-clop of hooves in the distance, accompanied by the creaking of their sturdy wagon rattling down the dirt path toward the homestead. 

She quickly glanced around the main room, making sure everything was in its place. There wasn’t much but she wanted it to be perfect. Despite their humble means, her mother had instilled a sense of pride in her daughters and always stressed the importance of keeping a good home. Fleur would be damned before she made a poor first impression. 

The woodpile by the door was stocked, the flagstone floor swept, and the mantle dusted. The small desk in the corner of the room was cleared of its typical mess of loose papers. The bedroom doors - one on either side of the fireplace - were closed, but the beds had freshly laundered sheets. 

The kitchen - little more than a long wooden counter along the wall opposite the fireplace - had received the same treatment. All of the dishes had been washed and put away on their shelves. Bunches of herbs and garlic braids hung from hooks in the rafters next to a brace of conies from Gabrielle’s traps. The larder - hidden behind a wooden divider - was organized as well. 

With everything to her satisfaction, Fleur went through her mental checklist for supper. The vegetable and beef stew she had prepared was simmering over the fire, ready to serve. Thanks to Gabrielle, the water jugs had been filled that afternoon and were lined up in a neat row. A fresh loaf of bread was sliced and centered on the table that divided the main room. She had even dipped into their butter supply as a special treat, the jar sitting next to the bread. 

Her breath hitched when she heard the wagon creak to a halt followed by the telltale thuds of boots hitting the dirt. 

Pale fingers obsessively smoothed down the skirt of her favorite blue cotton dress; a nervous habit she hadn’t quite managed to grow out of. 

“I’ll tend to the horse and will be in shortly.” An unfamiliar voice, as smooth as autumn honey, met her ears. 

She hurried across the room, hastily wiping off her hands on her white apron and adjusting her thick platinum braid along the way. Despite her previous reservations, her curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to see the owner of the smoky alto that had her shivering involuntarily. 

From her lookout in the doorway, Fleur could make out a dark silhouette leading the horse to the barn, guided by a handheld torch. Disappointment coursed through her veins. Patience had never been her strength of hers, she had just gotten better at masking it.

She didn’t have time to dwell before her father came striding into view, a broad grin on his face and her sister dangling from his arm. He was the polar opposite of his late wife in both appearance and attitude. His thick, curly dark hair was hidden under his broad-rimmed travel hat, but Fleur could see a leaf stuck in the side of his bushy salt-and-pepper beard. His eyes were tired and his cloak slightly askew from a long day of traveling, but otherwise he looked fit. Bright blue eyes - the only trait his daughters inherited from him - twinkled merrily. 

“There’s my little flower! Did you miss me?” He swept her up in a big one-armed hug, his beard tickling her cheek. Fleur loved that he was so openly affectionate; most men were rigid and stoic toward their families. 

“Oui, Papa! I’m glad you’re back. It was a good trip?”

“Very successful indeed, but I’m glad to be home! I sold all the wine and as my letter said, I found someone willing to work here in exchange for room and board and a modest commission from sales.”

For some reason, this information made Fleur uncomfortable. The wind of her previous excitement rushed out of her sails, leaving her visibly deflated. It sounded too good to be true. Why would someone undersell themselves? Were they that desperate for work? Admittedly, she wasn’t familiar with this aspect of business since they’d never had hired help before, so maybe it was standard practice? She resolved to keep an eye out for any suspicious behavior.

“Papa, Papa, Papa! We made your favorite dessert as a surprise! I collected the strawberries! And Fleur made stew for tonight!” Gabrielle dropped off his arm and rocked on her toes, vibrating with excitement.

“What did I do to deserve such amazing daughters?” He grinned and ruffled his youngest’s hair, directing an appreciative sniff toward the open door. “Smells good! I’ll just wash up real quick, then we can eat.”

“Me, too!” Gabrielle rushed around the house to the wash basin out back. 

Fleur just shook her head at her sister’s antics and went back inside. Experience told her that the pair would likely be delayed due to her sister’s inability to focus and a seemingly unending reserve of energy. She knew she should work on wrangling her behavior but she didn’t have the heart to cage such a free spirit. She would let her sister cling to the last vestiges of youth as long as she could before teaching her how to be a proper lady. 

She cringed at the thought, but it was for the best. She had the impression that Gabrielle would be perfectly happy living alone and eking a living off the land, but her strength wouldn’t last forever. Being an unwed spinster was essentially a social death sentence in their small-minded town. 

She lit two more candles for the table as she waited. She was absentmindedly adjusting the spoons when a subtle cough caught her attention. 

Fleur’s arctic blue eyes flicked over to the door and she froze as she got her first look at the new farmhand. 

He was tall, about half a hand taller than her, but with shoulders narrower than what she would expect for a man his height. Despite his slight build, she could see defined muscles under his long-sleeved linen shirt and brown leather vest. A mess of curly brown hair was cropped short on the sides but left long on the top, pulled back by a cord. While he looked to be slightly older than her, his face was gentle and soft, boyish even, not even a hint of peach fuzz along his chin. 

Intelligent amber eyes watched her - not in an unwelcome manner, more curious than anything else, but it left her breathless. That one look stripped away her hard exterior and pierced straight to her soul. 

_‘Oh, gods.’_

Fleur’s heart thundered in her chest, though she did her best to remain calm and impassive. She proudly tilted her chin and fixed him with an appraising gaze; her haughtiness masking her rapidly growing interest in the boy. 

“Ah, good, we’re all here! I believe introductions are in order!” Raphaël announced as he entered the cottage, breaking the mounting tension between the teenagers. 

“Fleur, this is Monsieur Granger. He’ll be helping here for the foreseeable future.”

[Art by Drabsyo](https://kamaro0917.tumblr.com/post/645300933882970112/as-you-wish-kamaro0917-harry-potter-j-k)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s Fleurmione week, it’s Fleurmione week!! Chapter 2 is gonna pack in several prompts, so buckle up!

_Thwack!_ _Thud-thud._

Fleur leaned against the kitchen counter, absentmindedly handling the dough she was supposed to be shaping into a loaf. Her usually sharp gaze was glassy and unfocused as she stared out the window, lulled into a daydream by the late summer heat and the rhythmic sounds of chopping wood. 

_Thwack!_ _Thud-thud._

There was a time that she found solace in the repetitive nature of farm life, but now it left her unsatisfied and bored. She grew more restless with each passing day. She wasn’t sure what she longed for, she just knew she wanted _something_ ; something _more._

 _Thwack!_ _Thud-thud._

She could do all of her chores with her eyes closed and occasionally did so just to prove her point. She needed something to break up the rhythm of the day; something that got her blood flowing and set her heart racing with anticipation. 

Fortunately for her, she had just the solution.

 _Thwack!_ _Thud-thud._

“Oh, Farmboy!” 

A moment later, Farmboy - she refused to call him Granger - came trotting up to the kitchen window, his face flushed and shining with sweat, the wood ax slung over his shoulder. 

Her breath caught in her throat as icy blue eyes tracked a bead of sweat trailing down his neck before it disappeared under the hem of his dun-colored shirt. Even in the heat of summer, he wore his long-sleeved shirt, rolled up to his elbows. 

She had never seen him wear anything less in the year and a half that he had been living in their barn. It struck her as odd at first, but eventually, she just accepted it as a quirk and thought nothing else of it. 

Realizing she was staring, she quickly snapped her wandering eyes up to where they belonged. She hated when men leered after her, so she would do well not to be a hypocrite. 

Her heart fluttered when soft amber eyes met her own, staring back expectantly. 

_‘Oh, right._ ’

Her body jerked reflexively as a twinge of panic coursed through her veins. Twin sapphires darted around as she tried to think. An empty water jug caught her eye. 

_‘Perfect.’_

“Fetch me a pail of water.”

He tilted his head slightly; a silent challenge.

“Please.”

“As you wish.” He replied, his gaze catching hers once more before he turned for the well. 

Fleur smiled after his retreating form, confident he was unaware of her dreamy expression and the bright flush adorning her cheeks. 

This was their little game, one of her own making. She’d torment him - call him ‘Farmboy’ and dole out menial tasks that she could have easily done herself - and he would indulge her whims with a gentle smile and simple ‘as you wish.’ 

Looking back, she couldn’t put a finger on when this all started, though if she had to venture a guess it would have been shortly after his arrival. Everything changed when the farmhand showed up.

This one man, her Farmboy, waltzed into her life and unwittingly turned everything on end. 

For reasons beyond her understanding or control, she immediately craved his attention - though she would never admit it aloud. She was the one to be pursued, not the other way around. If he was interested in her, he should make the first move. It was only proper. 

Still, she couldn’t help herself. 

There was something about him that set her ablaze; made her feel _alive_. She wanted him to notice her. She _needed_ to feel that amber gaze on her skin. 

Unfortunately for Fleur, fate had a twisted sense of humor and the one person whose attention she desired frustratingly kept his eyes to himself. It was maddening, and she didn’t understand it. 

Why wouldn’t he look at her? Other men seemed to have no issue practically undressing her with their eyes. Did he not desire her? 

No, that wasn’t the case. She knew she affected him, catching glimpses of a soft blush here or a darkening of brown eyes there, but the changes were subtle, nearly imperceptible. It was only thanks to her highly observant nature that she noticed at all. 

After a few weeks, she realized he had started avoiding her, spending all his time working out in the fields. Granted, that was _why_ he was on their farm, but that was beside the point. Months went by where they barely interacted at all, despite living and working in close proximity.

The rejection stung more than it reasonably should. Unfortunately for him, it had the opposite effect and only served to steel her resolve.

Fleur would not be ignored. 

Thus, her one-sided game was born. Ordering him around was the only way she could guarantee his attention. She knew it was petty and childish but she couldn’t care less. It had the desired result, so she had no intention of stopping.

The best days were when their eyes would meet, even for a fleeting moment. In those brief seconds it was as though someone was seeing her for who she was; her very soul mirrored in pools of dark honey. And it was always over entirely too soon for her liking. 

After he completed his impromptu chores - which he always did swiftly and efficiently - he would simply go back to whatever he had been doing before she had interrupted him. All without speaking another word. 

‘As you wish’ was all he ever said to her. 

His silent treatment wasn’t reserved exclusively for her. He was quiet by nature and kept to himself, but he was a good worker and had earned her father’s trust and respect. 

Gabrielle adored him like an older brother, and spent hours happily chattering his ear off as he chopped wood or brushed down the horses. Other times the precocious preteen would find him in the fields to continue her one-sided conversation. Regardless of where he was or what he was doing, he always indulged her ramblings, nodding along to her stories as he worked.

With her afternoon sufficiently livened up, Fleur returned to her original task at hand with a newfound pep. She hummed to herself as she shaped the dough and stuck it on a stone cooking slab to bake in the woodstove.

Farmboy returned a few minutes later, the wooden yoke balanced on his shoulders, two pails of water swinging on their ropes. He entered the house with calculated steps, mindful not to spill.

Fleur didn’t dare turn when she heard him. Seeing him again would cause her aloof exterior to crack and ruin her carefully crafted air of indifference. 

The sound of pouring water filled the small room, a steady splash as the liquid flowed from one vessel to the other. 

“When you’ve finished with the wood, stack it and wash up for supper. Papa and Gabrielle are still away at the market so it’s just us tonight. I have business in town later so you’re free to do what you want with your evening.”

“As you wish,” he responded with his familiar soothing tone as he headed back outside. 

_Thwack! Thud-thud._

Fleur's ‘business in town’ was not ‘business’ at all, but rather a party in town square sponsored by the Finnigan family. 

Fleur wasn’t an idiot; she was well aware of the significance of the night. Using the pretense of innocent, well-mannered frivolity, the party was the perfect excuse to get all the young, eligible ladies together so the host-family could scope out a potential bride for their eldest son, Seamus. 

Additionally, flaunting their wealth made him appear more desirable as a future husband, demonstrating his means to provide for his would-be bride. It wouldn’t surprise her if several closed-door meetings occurred in the coming months between Finnigan Sr. and fathers eager to strike a good match for their daughters. 

Regardless of the somewhat dubious reason for the celebration, Fleur was looking forward to having some fun. Opportunities like this were rare in their small community, and dancing was a perfect way to loosen up and let off some steam. 

She took a deep breath as she walked, savoring the moment. The air was heavy with summer but she could detect the hint of fall creeping in. Soon the chill would set in and winter’s grasp would follow soon after. 

Her body thrummed with excitement; anticipation building with each step. She was close enough to hear the music and laughter in the distance. 

Tonight was hers.

Tonight was not hers.

The evening had started wonderfully. Fleur was never short of a dance partner and her cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling. She didn’t mind that the band was playing more traditional Celtic jigs, the upbeat fiddle music was perfect for reeling and spinning under the stars. 

It seemed that the Finnigan’s had spared no expense for their son’s social debut. Countless candle-lit lanterns hung overhead, strung between poles. Long rectangular tables, laden with food and beverage, were scattered around next to round sitting tables. The large open square had been cleared of the usual vendor stands, creating a perfect dance arena. An ever-changing tapestry of colors covered the hard-packed dirt floor, woven together by the synchronized movements of the dancers; Fleur, a near-constant feature in the center of the action. 

The energy was high and the party showed no sign of subsiding. It was the event of the season and everyone from town and the surrounding farms had shown up. 

Groups of older men congregated in small clusters, smoking pipes and catching up on business while their wives tittered and exchanged gossip over cups of spiced wine. The young adults and older teens dominated the dance floor. Those unlucky enough to be without a partner watched from the sidelines with hopeful longing, clapping along to the lively beat. Children played amongst the crowd, weaving through the throngs to snatch sweets when their parents weren't watching. 

After an hour of nonstop dancing, Fleur politely excused herself from the dance floor, leaving a disappointed partner in her wake. In retrospect, it wasn’t her finest moment to leave mid-song, but her aching feet and desperate need for a drink was a viable excuse. 

In truth, it was more that she saw an all too familiar shadow cross his eyes as his hands started to wander lower than what would be deemed appropriate. She knew exactly where his thoughts were heading and she did not want to deal with unwelcome advances tonight. She had just wanted to have some fun, why did men always make it about sex?

 _‘He’ll get over it; surely some other lady will catch his eye later.’_ She reasoned as she sidled up to a beverage station for a glass of lemonade to quench her thirst. 

Fleur was just about to take her first sip when a loud squeal caught her attention. She winced at the shrill sound and her head snapped around to find the source. 

It was not a greased pig that someone released as a prank as she originally expected, but rather a group of girls a few years her junior. They were huddled close, heads bowed as they whispered rapidly into the space between them. While they were too far away for her to discern anything meaningful from their conversation, it was obvious that something had them riled up. 

Fleur studied them for a moment as she sipped her drink. They took turns stealing glances at something over her shoulder while the rest giggled and chattered excitedly. 

Curiosity spiking, the platinum blonde looked in the direction of their turned heads and froze, glass halfway to her lips. 

_What was he doing there?!?_

As shocked as she was by his unexpected arrival, she couldn’t stop herself from drinking in his appearance, her actual beverage suddenly forgotten on the table. 

It was obvious that he had put in extra effort for the occasion. His unruly brown hair looked recently trimmed and washed - pulled back into its usual style. His skin - at least the bit of skin left uncovered by his customary long-sleeved shirt - appeared to be free of dirt and grime. His dark grey trousers and vest were fresh and crisp as well.

Fleur had to admit, he looked _good,_ despite his stiff, awkward posture. 

Brown eyes darted about, scanning the crowd before him. Fleur’s breath hitched in her throat as his gaze finally found hers. Even with the distance, she noticed the subtle twitch of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and her lips quirked up involuntarily in response. 

He was here looking for _her._

Without realizing what she was doing, she began walking in his direction, her smile growing along the way. Her heart raced, threatening to burst from her chest, and her head was full of clouds. She was so enamored that she completely forgot about her ‘I’m the pursued, not the pursuer’ rule. 

Her progress came to a screeching halt when a local girl approached him, swooping in right in front of her with a coy giggle that set Fleur’s teeth on edge.

She immediately recognized the girl as Pansy Parkinson, the baker’s daughter. Her body bristled in response to her childhood rival. _Of course it would be her._

The young woman was dressed in an expensive satin gown - forest green with silver trim, a matching silver ribbon holding back her raven locks. It was the kind of dress one might expect in a fine dancehall, but certainly not an outside jig where linen was the going standard. Fleur subconsciously smoothed down the skirt of her own blue dress.

Her throat ran dry, breath caught in her lungs. She wanted to look away, but she was inexplicably drawn to the scene unfolding in front of her. It was just like her early interactions with the snobby girl. 

As a child, Pansy loved to flaunt her family’s wealth in Fleur’s face, making a show of her new ribbons or pretty dolls - things Fleur could never afford - her green eyes glinting maliciously whenever she caught the blonde staring. For her part, Fleur knew she was being goaded but she could never look away. 

Apparently, their behavior hadn’t changed much over the years. 

Her face contorted into a deep scowl and arctic blue eyes narrowed dangerously as she watched the dark-haired girl begin to openly flirt with the brunette boy. At first he hesitated, his gaze flicking over the short girl’s shoulder to find her own before looking back to the one demanding his attention. 

Fleur nearly screamed when brown eyes turned away from her and didn’t return, quickly biting her tongue to keep herself from causing a scene. A sharp, tangy metallic taste flooded her mouth. 

Anger flared white-hot in her stomach when Pansy grasped his arm as she leaned up to whisper in his ear. 

_‘How dare she?!’_

Her resentment spiked and heart plummeted when she saw his lips moving in response to whatever the interloper had said. 

_‘How dare he?!’_

She didn’t know why, but seeing him talk to someone else when he barely spared her three words filled her veins with icy rage. 

Unable to watch any longer, she pivoted on her heel and stalked over to the nearest available dance partner, not particularly caring who she had grabbed. She was so incensed that any warm body would do. 

Fueled by a burning determination to show Farmboy exactly what he was missing out on, she planned to dance the rest of the night away with reckless abandon.

The stars twinkled brightly overhead as Fleur began her long trek home; the lively sounds of the party faded away as she increased the distance. She hadn’t wanted to leave so soon, but watching Farmboy with Pansy had been too much to bear. 

When her initial plans to make Farmboy jealous had failed miserably, she’d tried to ignore them and lose herself in the music. She wasn’t going to let her evening be spoilt, especially not by _him._ That worked for a while, but she kept getting glimpses out of the corner of her eye as she twirled around. Beyond the visual reminders, her brain never let him drift far from her thoughts. 

Several times she had it in her mind to just march up and interrupt them, but she could hear her mother’s chastisement in her head. _“Delacours don’t make spectacles of themselves.”_ She banished the fleeting thoughts and resumed her glowering - internally, of course. 

Her final cue to leave was when Pansy dragged the reluctant farmhand out to the dance floor. As luck would have it, the new pair had taken the spot immediately next to Fleur and her current partner - she never caught his name. 

It might have been her despair talking, but when her eyes met that familiar soulful gaze, she thought she detected hints of regret, guilt, and longing. Unfortunately for Fleur, she didn’t get the chance to dissect the look before her dark-haired rival pulled his attention away once more. 

“Merde.” She huffed under her breath when she heard a horse approaching behind her at a quick gait. Her mother was probably rolling in her grave at her uttering a profanity, but Fleur couldn’t find it in herself to care at the moment. 

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Fleur whirled around, eyes wide. Of all the people, Farmboy was the last one she expected to see. 

It might have been his unexpected presence, the calloused hand she’d dreamed of holding reaching down to her, or the fact that the farmhand was speaking in complete sentences, but Fleur’s brain misfired. She stared up at him, gawking like a fish. 

“Come. I’ll give you a ride. Phillipe can bear us both.” He smiled down with a charming, lopsided grin, shaking his hand in her direction. 

“Oh, so now you acknowledge me? Had your fun and now you’re looking for more? Did Pansy send you to rub it in my face? You two looked awfully chummy out there. Why aren’t you following _her_ home?” She spat venomously when she recovered from her surprise. Her gaze hardened into a tight glare, her hands balled into fists at her sides. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and you’re being ridiculous and unfair. I didn’t do anything wrong.” He blinked, taken aback by the unexpected outburst, eyes burning slightly in challenge. 

Fleur barked a laugh at that. “Didn’t do anything wrong? Everything was wrong! I was having fun and you had to show up and ruin it!”

Lost for words, he ran a hand through his tousled hair. He seemed to realize that he was fighting a losing battle because he tried changing tactics to soothe her temper. “Let me give you a ride back so you can at least be mad at home.” 

“I’d rather walk, thank you very much.” She dismissed the offer with a haughty sniff. Without another word, she turned her back to him and stalked away.

Fleur heard him dismount behind her, his leather boots scuffling in the dirt. She silently congratulated herself for not giving in and turning around. She kept her head high and continued her march home. 

The pair walked in silence for several minutes. The weight that had settled between them was exhausting to bear and each step was like walking uphill through the mud. 

Eventually the tension was too much for Fleur, and she whirled around on her heel, jabbing her finger in his direction. 

“Why are you still here?” Fleur snapped accusingly.

He watched her for a moment, brown eyes calculating but never wavering from her icy glare. Fleur could practically hear his internal debate as he ran through various responses and anticipating the ire each would induce to determine his next words.

“I wanted to see you home safe.”

“I don’t need your help! I don’t need a baby-sitter! I’m nearly a grown woman, I can make my own decisions! You are free to go! In fact, I would prefer to be alone!” She didn’t know why she was lashing out at him, but the words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them. 

“As you wish.” His shoulders fell and turned away from her.

At that moment Fleur hated those three words. Usually it felt like a promise. Now it was tainted with defeat.

Why wouldn’t he fight back? 

Anger, hurt, and frustration flared in the pit of her stomach. 

Without realizing what she was doing, she reached out and grabbed his shoulder, forcefully spinning him back to face her. No sooner had he pivoted around, she reached up and grabbed his face, pulling it down to meet her own and pressing their mouths together. 

It wasn’t the romantic first kiss she had imagined as a young girl. It was bruising and raw; emotionally charged. It was also entirely one-sided. 

She pulled away after a moment, realizing that he hadn’t responded to her advance. His body was rigid, muscles tense under her grasp, and his expression equally surprised and conflicted.

A wave of shame swept over her; the rejection hit her harder than a slap in the face. 

She tried to step back but strong hands gripped her waist, cutting off her retreat and pulling her close once more. She didn’t have time to process what was happening before surprisingly soft lips pressed against her own, this time tender and slow. Her eyes fluttered shut as she lost herself in the moment.

Time had no meaning. Seconds, minutes, or hours could have passed and Fleur couldn’t have cared less. She reveled in their closeness, the gentle pressure on her hips, the flexing shoulder muscles to which she clung for dear life.

It was everything she’d dreamed of but now that she’d had a taste, it left her wanting - no, needing - more. As if reading her thoughts, a tentative tongue swiped over her bottom lip. She immediately acquiesced, parting her lips and removing the final space between them. 

Eventually the need to breathe became an issue and she pulled back slightly but never left Farmboy’s personal space. 

He seemed just as reluctant to step away. He cupped her jaw as if it was the most precious object in the world, brushing rough thumb pads across her cheeks as he pressed his forehead to hers, their noses touching.

When her breathing evened out, she tilted her chin to gaze up at him. Expressive brown eyes watched her every move; soft and unguarded, pupils wide. There was want and desire, but something more. Something deeper. 

“I’m sorry.” Fleur whispered so softly she wasn’t sure he had heard her. 

His lips quirked up, lowering his lips to hers once more. “You should know, the only reason I went was to see you.” He murmured against her, his voice a husky timbre. 

“But -” her retort was cut short by a chaste kiss.

“I never wanted to be with Pansy. She wouldn’t leave me alone and then you left before I could shake her.”

Fleur just nodded and grasped his hand, interlacing their fingers. No words needed to be said. 

“Let’s go home, it’s getting late. We can talk more in the morning.” He helped her up onto the horse before hopping up in front of her.

Fleur settled in for the ride, leaning onto him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. She closed her eyes, enjoying the gentle rocking of their bodies as Phillipe plodded along; savoring the scent of fresh grass, mint, and sandalwood.

Maybe tonight was hers after all. 

**AN**  
So shout out to tumblr artist @drabsyo who graciously did art for this fic! It’s freaking amazing, so check it out!  
Here’s   
[Hermione!](https://kamaro0917.tumblr.com/post/645750978486878208/as-you-wish-kamaro0917-harry-potter-j-k)  
(link to Fleur is at bottom of chapter 1)  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to move quickly cuz frankly I don’t have time for another big slow burn. Also, regarding Hermione’s pronouns, this is Fleur POV...
> 
> Musical inspiration for the dance scene - ‘Ballroom of Romance’ by Celtic Woman.


End file.
